


The Transaction

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is 3 years into his 4 year sentence at <i>Bartons County Prison</i> when one of the guards comes to him for a favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Transaction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clarounette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarounette/gifts).



> Take my prison knowledge with a grain of salt, seriously, I couldn't even think of a half decent name.

\--

"Go fish."

Michael scowls as he picks up from the deck, grumbling various obscenities beneath his breath. Georgie, across from him, just raises an eyebrow in mockery.

"Alright old man," Michael grouses, tucking his new four of clubs into his hand, "Try your luck."

The other man hums, tapping a finger against his bottom lip in contemplation. He glances up at Michael, squinting slightly against the sun. If Michael wasn't currently getting his ass kicked he'd offer to trade places - Georgie was old, pushing his seventies, and Michael had been taught to take care of his elders - but the moment the words "Got a jack?" came out of the other man's mouth he was too busy cursing him up and down to be anything other than petty.

"And that makes 14 pairs," Georgie boasts, patting a neat pile by his elbow. Michael, in true form, throws the rest of his cards at him. A few inmates loitering nearby on the bleachers snigger at his spectacle.

Michael ignores them.

"One more game," Michael challenges, leaning across the table. Georgie looks equal parts pained and amused but doesn't deign to reply; he simply filches out a cigarette from his breast pocket and prods Michael to pass him a light. "Oh come on! we've got 10 more minutes of rec-time," Michael exclaims, but slides over the matches dutifully, "Give a guy a chance to win his dignity back."

Georgie, ever an old bastard of few words, sighs into his first drag, casts a long suffering look to the sky then starts collecting and shuffling the cards. Michael grins in victory.

"Hold up," Georgie says halfway through the match. Michael peers up from his cards, curious, but Georgie isn't paying him any attention, his pale grey eyes locked on something over Michael's shoulder.

Before Michael can even twist on his seat to have a look, a long shadow casts itself over them and an unfamiliar guard is suddenly standing beside him, smiling brightly down at Georgie.

"Do you mind giving me a moment with your cellmate, George? It'll only take a minute, I swear, and then you can get back to your game."

Michael snorts, because the sweet, polite gentleman act doesn't work that well with Georgie, who may seem like a harmless old man if you've never been given the chance to comb over his rap sheet. Which Michael hasn't, but he's witnessed enough of the man's true nature for him to imagine that it is long and arduous read.

So naturally it stuns him stupid when his cellmate immediately climbs to his feet, abandoning MIchael with a nod and a pat to the guard's shoulder, clasping it for an extended time before releasing it just like a father might a favoured son.

Then they are alone, and Michael feels a trickle of unease run down his spine.

He's never butted heads with any of the guards, not once for the last three years. Michael keeps his head down, doesn't cause a fuss and the contraband he peddles is innocuous enough that the bosses don't much care how he's procuring it. _Bartons County Prison_ isn't a super-max by any definition but it does have it's fair share of hardened criminals - if said criminals are easier to deal with when they're armed with cigarettes, a snide of vodka and a couple of porno mags, well, Michael hasn't heard any complaints as of yet.

Perhaps this one's the first, Michael thinks, watching carefully as the stranger moves. With the sun no longer glaring in his eyes it's easier to take stock of the other man as he walks around the table, Michael giving him the old subtle up and down without, hopefully, drawing attention. The man is young, trim. The word 'honest' springs to mind when the other man turns to face him - something in the sweep of his nose or perhaps the swell of his cheeks.

Michael finds the contrast between ginger stubble and the dark crop of hair oddly appealing.

There's a brief awkward moment in which the other man quite obviously wants to sit down, eyeing the bench opposite Michael with frustration. It would set a bad example to do so, sitting as equals, especially out in the open amongst half of cell block B able to bear witness - but still, the guard looks conflicted, uncomfortable even and Michael suddenly realises, without quite knowing how, that the other man finds talking over and down to someone as rude and distasteful.

Georgie's behaviour seems more understandable now.

"James McAvoy," the other man finally introduces, and what little unease Michael still possessed immediately drains from him. Rumours about other prisoners at _Bartons_ are always generally exaggerated and overbloated - rumours about guards however, whether they are brutal, cruel or fair, are generally spot on.

The name McAvoy is attached to a very favourable reputation.

"Michael," he proffers in return, folding his cards face down, "but I'm sure you already knew that. What can I do for you today, boss?"

"I've got a bit of a problem," James responds, hesitantly, "and I think you might just be the man to solve it for me."

\--


End file.
